Toying with Fate
by SrMichaelBucket
Summary: Born normal and with a great life, Jason Voorhees sits by and watches as it all falls apart. But, misery loves company, so he may not have to deal with it alone. (Honest Reviews needed)
1. Chapter 1: One Act of Kindess

A blistering sun burst open the veil of night-shade, befalling a sleeping face which cringed upon being invaded by the sudden brightness. A man was lain there, white blanket covering his rather spry frame, but now being pulled above his head in annoyance. A crop of short, messy blond hair was all that remained visible. Despite the effort in which he was trying to stay in sleep, others didn't seem to want such of him. A small black device resting on his bedside table began to vibrate excessively and continued to do so until tampered with. "Hello?" came his tired voice, gruff and quiet from sleep.

"Hey Jason," chimed a cheery voice which he'd come to despise each and every morning. "Sleeping in again?" On the other end was a young woman named Angel. She was anything but. Her nuisance behavior was enough to drive a man insane and had just about done so on many occasions.

"I was planning on it," responded Jason bitterly. There was a soft giggle from the other end that made the man cringe. God, did he hate her. The only reason she even knew him was through a friend of Jason's who she was dating, and still so was the case. As far as he knew, Ryan, that friend, didn't like the girl for her, not that anyone would, and strictly for reasons that made Jason roll his eyes.

"Well, did you forget your plans with Ryan and I today?"

"I don't think I could if I tried..."

"What? Were you just going to stay in bed and not come?" The blond sat up, scratching the back of his head. He swung his legs over the side of the mattress and slowly stood, aching as the cold wood floors sent waves of shock through his body.

"No," he tried not to snort, "I just don't manage my time and usually tend to get ready at the last minute." There was another one of her horrifying giggles.

"That's a bad habit, Jay. We're leaving in ten minutes to come get you." Jason growled under his breath.

"Alright, so you should hang up and let me get dressed." He swore if she giggled again, he would knock himself out cold. Thankfully she didn't and ended the call with a simple 'Okay' leaving Jason to do as he needed before being dragged along at the heels of Ryan Burge and his skeleton-skinny play thing that he referred to as his girlfriend. God what a mess today was turning out to be.

Jason walked into the bathroom and glared at his reflection in the mirror. Stubble hadn't yet grown upon his features, but a light 5 o'clock shadow adorned them in its place. He waved it off. It made him look gruff and he liked that. He then opened the medicine box and pulled out a comb, quickly brushing through his hair, but keeping a messy look to go with his face. Jason walked out after that, going back to his bedroom and grabbing his favorite t-shirt from its hanger. It was a black with a white 'flammable' symbol in the middle. He never understood _why _it was his favorite shirt, as it wasn't the most comfortable or the most character defining, but just because he wore it the most, enough to put a small hole in the right shoulder.

After adorning his shirt, his sweat-pants were discarded to his bedroom floor and a pair of worn blue-jeans took their place. A black belt was looped around his waist after that. Finally Jason made his way into the living room and grabbed a pair of black combat-boots from their place next to the couch, putting them on. That was his usual routine on days as undesirable as these, with one single addition. A soft press came against the tall man's leg as long-haired tabby curled itself against it. "Hey, Crystal," Jason cooed, scratching the cat's chin lovingly. He stood with the cat in his arms and carried her to the kitchen where he fixed her a bowl of cat-food. Now, his preparations were complete and just in time to see the silver pick-up roll into his drive. Jason called a good-bye to his feline friend before rushing out the door, leather coat in hand to stave from the cold Canadian winter that breached through the house if only for a few seconds before the front door was closed and locked. He briskly walked to the vehicle and hopped in the passenger seat behind the driver's. Ryan was sitting at the wheel.

"Sup, Jay," he said with his usual soft smile. He had light brown hair, messy much like Jason's, but his skin was far tanner than his brute-ish companion. Ryan was handsome, good-looking enough to get attention but the man wasn't a model. He wore a simple grey polo and simple but well kept blue jeans, something that made Jason scoff. Angel was behind it, he knew. Speaking of Angel, she was next to Ryan, brown hair styled in big, spiraling curls. Her face was done up with so much make up that Jason could only estimate how much it all weighed. Her blouse was blue and left little to the imagination along with short-shorts, white as snow, and far too small for her to have even considered wearing, but she did, and he wasn't surprised.

"Jason, sweetie," Angel coughed, seeming to sound seriously distressed, but anyone who knew Angel knew how insignificant something could be to set her off like that. "Don't you think you should look a little more... presentable when going out?" Jason smiled smugly at her.

"I was just about to ask you the same thing." Angel growled, looking to Ryan for some help, but the man was already rolling in his seat, attempting not to crash while stifling his laughter.

"You know, sometimes, Jay, I think you really can't stand me."

'Oh, you bet, sister,' he thought, very much wanting to voice the way he felt, but held himself back.

* * *

Oh, the mall... or was it hell? Jason sure as either couldn't tell. Too many people, to much commotion. Jason was a quiet, solitary man that liked his silence as much as his space. Here, he got neither. Angel and Ryan walked side-by-side with angel controlling the entirety of what was invading Jason's ears. Jason, on the other hand, walked behind, lagging and taking his dear sweet time just to distance himself from them both. One thing to notice about the blond as he weaved between and around patrons was his height. He was a very tall man, towering over everyone. He wasn't the height of any of the larger basketball players he didn't think, not really knowing, considering that he didn't watch sports too much and when he did, it wasn't basketball, it was hockey, but nonetheless, he was tall. End of story.

For a few hours, they trio took to an exploration of nearly every clothing store Angel could spot and the occasional arts-and-crafts area. The last one made Jason scoff. Angel was one of those people who were totally oblivious to their lack of talent and liked to mockingly boast about something she didn't have. She'd gather all these pencils, paints, tape, and the like just to make a work of utter shit which was intended to actually be something but was later mistaken for a terrible render of abstract art. Jason even laughed to himself upon remembering the last time she had tried to paint his cat, Crystal.

Eventually they made it to the food-court, stopping at a pizza place for but a moment before Jason was freed from his slave bindings to go to his favorite stand, 'Korean Express.' Orange chicken was addicting and he could never turn down a warm egg-roll. With their food in tow, all three of them sat at a table near the center of the square cafe platform. Angel and Ryan sat, of course, next to one another and Jason was sitting across from them, mowing through his rice and poultry. There was almost never a silent moment with Angel around, but when one did come along, it made both men lock their eyes to her. Jason glanced up to see her staring at him, tilting her head a little. "What?" he asked, some rice filling his cheeks. After cringing for a moment at the blond's lack of etiquette, Angel spoke one of her 'as a matter of fact' tones.

"You know what, Jay? I think you need a girl." Jason spat out his rice onto the lid of his Styrofoam food container, causing Ryan to shake with forcibly muffled mirth. Angel paid no mind to either of them and went on to explain herself. "You've been alone forever and I don't think I ever saw you with a girl friend. Did he have one in high-school, Ryan?" the burnet shook his head, smile wide across his features. "Okay, so you HAVE been along forever. When are you gonna let some romance into your life, honey?" Jason wiped his mouth with a napkin and stared at Angel with the most bewildered eyes.

"Uh, how about never."

"What?" She had the gall to look surprised. "Why not?" Jason eyed Ryan aggressively, unnoticed by the woman.

"I have seen the torture of many a man, thus I shall not put myself in the position to have the same done unto me. Besides, I like being alone. I can do what I want, act like myself, and not have someone breathing down my neck and acting like my mother when I do something wrong." His deep chestnut eyes shifted to Angel, spitting at her with the venom of his glaze.

"No one likes being alone, Jason. Sure, sometimes its nice, but company every so often would be nice, wouldn't it? Someone to spend a little time with and maybe talk to when you have a problem instead of listening to someone over the phone who can't really be there at that second. Not all women are... normal, like me, you know. If you like boyish girls, I have a few friends." Jason snorted quietly out of annoyance to her terrible argument. Honestly, Jason never found anyone appealing. They always had these terrible quirks that he couldn't stand. Maybe sometime in the future, when his early adult youth was done with, he'd find someone special, but not now and most sure as hell not one of Angel's cliché.

"Look, Angel, I appreciate what you're trying to do," Jason began with a lie straight through his teeth, "But, I don't want a relationship right now. I don't need the stress. I'm already looking for a new job and am living off loaned money from my mom. Just having another person with emotions I'll be expected to deal with will nearly kill me."

"Oh, come on Jay," said Ryan, speaking up for the first time in a while, "You're blond. You can hide the grey hairs." The larger man growled at Ryan, a bitter expression telling him 'you're not helping.' Ryan simply leaned back with a rolling of his eyes and a sigh.

Thankfully after that the conversation was dropped and Jason was forced back into listening to Angel drone about God knows what. They tossed their food trays and began to walk out of the cafe area. Jason just happened to be looking over to his left just in time to see three young men, fresh of their teen years, shove past a food-court worker. They nearly pushed him to the floor with their rude force. They even had the gall to drop their trays down on the floor in front of the poor man before walking off. Jason sighed, turning from his companions, his heart getting the best of him. All the guy was trying to do was make a living and assholes like that were pushing shit. The spry blond slowly approached the light-headed janitor, leaning over in front of him to pick up one of the discarded trays. The shorter man looked up immediately, eyeing Jason with some of the brightest green irises he'd ever seen. Despite their brilliance in color, they were plagued by some unknown strife which Jason could never connect.

"I saw what those assholes did," began the blond, "And I didn't really think it was fair. Thought I'd help a little." The smaller man lowered his head, leaning against the mob he held with a slump as though Jason had done something to shame him. Apparently it was what little pride the man had even as a janitor.

"That's really thoughtful, but I don't need any help." His voice was gruff and a lot like gravel and did it sound kind. Jason nodded, giving a blank expression.

"But, still, it wasn't right for those boys to treat you like that, or anyone, and you shouldn't have to clean it up. Want my help or not, I'm giving you a hand." The blond picked up the trays and scooped up as much of the garbage and unfinished food he could before dumping it in a near by trash can. When he came back, the light-haired custodian was mopping up a small puddle of tomato-sauce, muttering to himself. Jason approached him again and held out his hand, trying to softest, but most earnest grin he could muster. "My name is Jason," he said. The janitor stood there, staring at the burly hand for a moment before taking it with caution.

"Fred," he responded, seemingly transfixed at how Jason's hand had almost completely consumed his own. They released and Jason nodded to Fred with his continuous soft smile.

"Well, it was nice meeting you Fred. Take care." He then walked off to join Angel and Ryan who had stopped to observe the entire thing. They were even close enough to hear what words had been exchanged.

"Done your daily good to society, Mother Teresa?" asked Ryan in a mocking tone. Jason feigned a punch at Ryan who flinched away.

"Two for flinching," Jason spat, hitting Ryan twice in the left shoulder.


	2. Chapter 2: Falling Apart

Upon another early morning, Jason's alarm clock was what woke him up. It had been set the previous night to do such. The tall man sat up, running his hands over his face to try and clear the sleep from his features. He kicked at the blankets, pushing them down to his ankles so that his body could feel the cold creeping in and perhaps awaken more than it had already. It worked and he felt a heavy shiver crawl up his spine. Jason got up from bed and decided to take a shower, grabbing some fresh clothes from his closet and drawers before heading off to the bathroom.

* * *

It hadn't been but two minutes after he had dressed before the phone rang, but not his cellular device. It was his home phone which threw up an intimidate red flag. No one who knew Jason called on his house phone and he had never gotten more than two calls from a telemarketer in the past three years. The Canadian walked over to his house phone and picked it up off the receiver. "Hello?" He answered, rather apprehensive.

"Is this Jason Elias Voorhees?" asked a female voice from the other end. Her tone was urgent.

"Yes," Jason answered, tone getting more apprehensive and worry-weighed by the second. There was no pause from the woman as she continued to speak.

"I regret to inform you that you're mother, Pamela, is in the hospital. She had a stroke." His heart sank right through the floor-boards. One terrible, tingling sensation of fear billowed up from his chest, plaguing his entire body with spastic waves of tremors. Had this been the first time his mother had a stroke, the severity wouldn't have been as it was, but, alas, Pamela had had one prior and it riddled the poor woman, nearly killing her. Considering the weight of the last one on Pamela, the doctor's warned that a second, thought not likely, would be the end of her. Jason stood up, unable to hold his nervous pacing still.

"Is she at least stable?" he was able to choke out, voice shaking.

"Sadly, no and there's not much more we can do. We don't know how much longer she can hold out, so we wanted to inform you that this could be, as hard as it is to say, the last time you might see her." The voice was sympathetic, obviously not yet used to informing the next of kin to such things. Jason held his breath, trying to keep the tears down as he fumbled with his shoes.

"I'll be there soon," he gagged before the woman hung up. He finally got his laces tied and stumbled out the door, hopping onto his motorcycle. The engine revved unsteady to the man's quivering palm before he pulled out and rushed off, pushing the speed limit as much as he could without getting himself written up by a police officer.

* * *

The halls bustled like blood-veins. Men and woman going this way and that. Constant calls came over the intercom and doctors rushed from point A to Point B like lives depended on it, which they probably did. There was a surplus of personnel at the front desk and one Greeted Jason with a warm smile. "Hello. Can I help you, sir?" It was the same voice from the phone. Jason nodded, eyes fit to burst from the tears he was holding back. The redness was already visible in his eyes.

"Yes. Jason Elias Voorhees, here to see my mother, Pamela." Her smile dropped promptly and she stood from her chair. The woman came to Jason's side and put a hand on his back, walking him to the elevator where they both got in and she pressed the button for the fifth floor. The wait was agonizing and didn't help the twisting inside his gut. His blood was still running ice cold, making Jason shake uncontrollably. The nurse saw this and she pressed a soft hand on his back, patting him in the most comforting manner. It didn't help much, but at least someone cared enough to try and ease his frail nerves. The elevator jerked to a stop and they both briskly walked to one of the rooms nearest to the floor's lobby. Jason quickly opened the door and rushed over to the hospital bed, taking his mother's hand, which was just barely warm. A heart monitor beat slowly at her side and a breathing machine pumped air into her lungs. The woman's features were distressed, even her closed eyes. "Mom..." Jason squeaked softly, no longer able to hold back his pooling tears. They rolled down his cheeks, leaving light streaks. There was no response from the woman.

Jason pressed his forehead to her hand, heaving heavy breaths to try and still his sobs. "Mom, It's me. It's Jay. I-I just wanted to come see you." Her hand was shaking lightly, but Pamela still showed no signs of waking up... Jason didn't care. He sat down in the chair next to his mother's bed and held her hand even still. His own body was racked with that horrid shaking. Jason's hands began to tremble madly as he tried to think of words he could say. He wanted to think of something that meant more to his mother than a simple 'I love you.' Unspoken words perhaps, that his mind had locked away until a moment like this. He had so many. "Thank you," he started, another sob breaking from his lips, "Thank you for being the only one who believed in me. Thank you for caring for me and looking out for me even after I had grown up and moved away. If only you had any idea what I would give to take your place right now... To take away your pain. I know it'd be stupid to throw my life away like that, but I'd do it no matter how moronic and crazy it would seem. That's just how much I love you." Jason took in a deep, jagged breath. "I remember the day dad left. You told me that no matter what you'd make sure we'd have the best life we could possibly manage, even without him, and we did. You went above and beyond what any mother ever should and that meant the world to me. It still does." He kissed her hand softly. "God bless you. God bless everything you've ever done and every heart you've ever touched. Thank you..." His sobs were broken free and his body shook uncontrollably from them. His eyes were flooded with salty tears which blinded him. The shaking in his mother's hand had ceased, leaving just Jason's own tremors.

The door to the room opened slowly and a hand pressed to Jason's shoulder. He looked up, eyeing a man with light skin and black hair. His scrubs were covered by a medical-coat. He jerked his head towards the door and Jason got up, following him out into the hall. "Jason," He began, "After doing some extensive tests, we've deemed that your mother is... She's brain-dead, meaning her body's functions are still active, but she's technically gone." Jason pressed his back to the wall, sliding down it before landing on the floor in a sitting position. He covered his eyes with his massive palms and simply broke out in soft cries. Many who were walking the halls glared at the blond, some covering their mouths as to express their pity. The doctor looked around and shook his head, inwardly regretting not taking the man to a meeting room to have this conversation. "Mr. Voorhees, please. There's more." Jason looked up, eyes blood-red. "Though she is clinically dead, we cannot take her off life-support without the consent of her family. Seeing as you are her only living relative, we leave this decision up to you. Though I cannot try to persuade you towards either choice, I do ask that you think about what's best for her."

Jason sat there, arms rested on his knees. He pressed the back of his head to the wall, closing his eyes. A single question bounced around in his head. '_What if they're wrong?_' Jason shook the question away, knowing what he needed to do. They weren't wrong. They wouldn't jump to this conclusion unless they were absolutely sure. But, still, memories danced in his head of the woman who had cared for him his entire life. Days at their summer home, playing in the lake, both heaving smiles wide across their features. Nights Jason sat up late to watch movies with her and all the close calls in which Pamela might have had to make this decision for him had they just been a little closer. His first day of school to his final day of collage, she was there, either saying good-bye or welcoming him home. He could recall every phone call he received, every fight they had, every tender moment where they only had each other to run to. For everything his mother had ever done for her, there was but one thing he could do for her.

"It's time to let her go..."

* * *

A half-empty glass of whisky stuck tightly to his palm as Jason put it down on the bar after another swig. His eyes were red from both tears and intoxication. People came and went from the bar, some trying to start conversation with him and other flirting, but none were able to pry him from his grief. A slow pop song played over the speakers and sunk in with the dark wood floors, worn walls, and yellow lighting which just made the place all the more melancholy. Jason sucked down the rest of his drink and pushed the glass away, lifting his head for the first time in hours to look at who was around him. There was a woman to his far left, leaning against the bar and talking to the barkeep and his right side was void of anyone until a light-haired man in his late twenties entered and took up the stool there. He struggled for the bar-tender's attention before giving up and looking to Jason with the brightest green eyes. Jason knew those eyes from somewhere but in his drunken state couldn't recall.

"Oh, hey, it's you," the brunet grumbled, seemingly tired.

"Frgive muh fuckedup mind for not exactly rememberin' you," the Canadian slurred. The brunet chuckled, tapping his finger on the bar.

"It's Fred, from Yesterday at the mall. You helped me clean up after a bunch off assholes." The memory clicked in Jason's mind and his eyes lit with a low spark.

"Oh yeah. Sorry 'f'm not too chatty. I gotlot' on my plate right now." Fred nodded.

"You and me both, Pal. My life's gone to hell. I just lost my job and have no way to pay rent this month. I'll be homeless in the next week, I swear. What's up with you?" Jason sat up, blinking his eyes slowly. The blurry vision wouldn't go away nor would a pounding headache which he got every time he cried.

"I just lost my only living relative and main source of support while I was looking for a job. I got laid off two weeks ago." Fred gave a sharp intake of breath from between his teeth, his green eyes squinting as though he'd been punched.

"Wow. Some days are worse than others. I'm sorry to hear that." Jason only nodded slowly, taking in a heavy sigh.

"It'll be fine, though. I have an interview Tuesday."

"This Tuesday?" Fred seemed worried and slightly amused. Jason nodded looking at the other man with a raised brow. "That's tomorrow, buddy." Jason's eyes shot open and he stumbled from his stool. The bartender looked up from the woman just in time to see the blond fall on his back. The Canadian quickly got up, nearly falling over again and reached for his wallet, pulling out around fifty dollars which had to have been more than enough. Through all of this, Fred nearly fell off his own stood from mirth, holding his sides. "You're not planning on driving home are you?" he called as Jason tried to fumble out the door. The blond turned and looked at him, his right eye drooped.

"I wsss..." The older man shook his head and hopped off the stool.

"If you even try, the last thing you'll have to worry about tomorrow will be missing that Job interview. Come on, I'll call you a cab."

"Hold on. Let me call my friend to come get muh bike 'irst." Fred shook his head and walked back to the bar, pulling out his own phone.


	3. Chapter 3: The Smallest Hope

A pounding ache broke loose inside Jason's head as soon as he awoke the next morning to the horrible trumpeting of his alarm clock. He rubbed his head and held it in a death-lock, trying to pressure the ache into ebbing, yet it remained constant. Headaches always put him in bad moods. It'd put anyone in a bad mood especially at the severity they usually plagued the Canadian. Alas, getting ruffled over it wasn't going to help anyone; more importantly Jason who had a job interview in an hour and needed all the time in the world to impress the man whom he needed to be impressed with him. Despite the worst of his hangover, the weight of his grief, and that alluring pull beckoning him back under the warm blankets, he needed to finally move on with his life. He needed this job. He needed the money. He needed to stop relying on others and it would start today. Jason stood up from his bed, sucking in every ounce of agony both physical and emotional, and went to get ready. He had a life to live.

* * *

Before him was a rather strangely shaped building, twisting in a short spiral and glittering like freshly fallen snow. Against the contrast of grey brick and muddled slush, this little architectural wonder was like a polished diamond upon a rusted silver chain. The building was small and almost dome like, looking sort of like a rose that had yet to bloom. The windows took up most of the walls from the outside, leaving just the white structural walls to give it a modern sheen. As Jason sat in his car after putting in a few eye-drops to reduce the redness in his eyes, he watched the people walk in and out. What was under their snow clothes, be it suits or casual attire, was a misery. Was he under dressed or normal compared to them?

Whatever fear he had over his attire was forced aside as the young man stepped from his black car, only used when he needed to look more held together and better prepared. Riding a motorcycle in the snow didn't seem very smart. Jason approached the building, his hands shaking and body ripping apart from the agony only inwardly. The red in his eyes was not as noticeable and he hoped with all his being that it didn't reappear during the interview.

As he stepped into the lobby, Jason found a strange surprise. The floors were a dark red-wood and the inner walls were painted warmly in an earth-tone brown. The lighting fixtures were dark and warm; lamps with wooden bases and tan shades of fabric. It wasn't anything at all like he was expecting. Jason walked up to the front desk, a wooden surface to match the floor, a young woman with dark hair and a happy face greeted him and shook his hand. "Welcome to Design Gagne Studio. Can I help you with something, sir?" Jason nodded.

"Yes, I'm Jason Voorhees, here to see Mr. Gagne about my job application." The woman nodded and motioned towards a small seating area with two armchairs and a table covered in magazines.

"Okay, you can take a seat and someone will be right with you. Jason nodded and mumbled his thanks before walking to the area and taking a seat. As he reached for a magazine, he noted how much his hands quivered and that it needed to stop. He put them back in his lap and fiddled with the zipper on his jacket for quite a while. This gave him time to think.

For the past few years his life had been rather dull. The friends he had were more so and he found little excitement in anything. Things he used to love doing were now a chore. The entirety of his current arraignments was awful, to say the least. Yes, he had a nice house in a rather gleaming neighborhood that had had little to no crime in years past, but all the civilian comforts in the world wouldn't mean a thing if he never liked them to begin with. When it all played out after collage, Jason thought what he wanted was a high pay and a more than structural place to live. He went for something with a modern design and a rather flowing air to it, thought the style suited him ill. Then he got a job as receptionist in a near-by office complex before being pushed up the latter to a higher pedestal. Making the amount of money that he was would seem to have kept him well off for the years that followed. Financially, the statement was correct. Emotionally, Jason was a miserable wreck. He hated his Job, he hated his customers, and most of all he hated the people he worked with. They were all a bunch of dull, melancholy zombies that played the facade in which they were overly content with whatever they did. They plastered smiles upon their faces and forced laughs through their teeth as they did their compliments which were all lies, straight up and Jason knew it. He'd speak to them in the same manner, but, inside, he regarded them all with so much malice it nearly stung with hatred.

When Jason got laid off, it looked as though he were on the brink of falling out. Unsurprisingly, though, his mind was dancing vigorously around in the happiest fit one could ever will into mental image. It was all over. His dragging, grey, death-like existence was over and he was ready, willing, and able to start anew with whatever he chose in life. After a long while, it finally came into focus. He needed more creativity in his life. Jason was one who liked color and artistic views. He hated the bluntness of monotone droning, thus he would give it up to be replaced by something that better suited his talents. He was a musician, a minor sketch artist, and sometimes would write when his thoughts needed to be put to paper; or rather a text document as no one seemed to really write down their thoughts anymore, especially Jason who hated to physically write things out and would prefer the speed of the computer in which he could type out the words just as fast as his mind willed them up. In school, he could remember his creative writing instructor telling him that his mind wen't too fast for his hands so Jason would struggled to make sense of his writings. One thought would blur into the next, making his written words do the same. He gave up the pen and lined paper shortly after.

What Jason was doing now by meeting a one Leon Gagne was attempting to acquire a job in graphic design. The career came to mind many times over the past month and the add for the position had brushed his finger once or twice, but it never clicked until but a week before the awaiting interview. According to the woman he talked to over the phone, six other candidates had already been interviewed and were all very promising, one of them bound to win Gagne's favor, but Jason assured that whatever they could do, he could do better, but in an offhanded sort of way. Being up front with something like that wasn't a good way to get someone to like him, nor did it sound akin to anything Jason would ever say. Modesty was one of his better traits.

"Mr. Voorhees?" The voice came from his left side and Jason turned to be quickly locked in a handshake with a young man not much older than him wearing a casual black T-shirt and blue jeans, but nice ones, which black dress shoes. Even this man's simple attire made him feel under dressed. "I'm Royce. If you'll follow me, Mr. Gagne will be seeing you in his office." Jason nodded and stood from his seat. He stuffed his hands quickly into his coat pockets, stilling their shaking, though very weakly. He and Royce navigated the sleek, but still dark, halls, passing many rooms and some small cube offices, which made the Canadian hiss inwardly. Then they took an employee only elevator up two floors and weaved through another set of halls and office rooms before reaching a dark, redwood door without any lettering on it. Royce motioned his hand towards it then turned and left Jason standing there, but kept in plain sight not far off.

Jason stared at the wooden slab which stood between him and Leon Gagne. There was no record of this man in person from anyone, as his life was solitary. There were pictures of him in magazines and newspapers, not to mention internet articles, all in which he looked pleasant enough, but that was the way adds were suppose to make people look. Looking as thought one were shallow, bitter, or in the slightest way pushy, was bad for business. Jason finally worked up the nerve to grab the doorknob. With little effort he turned it and before he even realized it was open and a small room with a single desk sat before him. Two small chairs sat before it. The man at the desk lifted his head and gave a smile, only nodding towards one of the seats. He had short black hair with light skin that seemed to be a norm in this area. His shirt was a simple button up. Jason moved as though cinder blocks had been glues to his feet, but made it to the chair and sat down.

"You must be Jason," said Gagne, reaching out his hand from over the desk top. Jason smiled and took it, giving it one firm shake before retracting out out of fear that his nervousness would show. "I'm Leon Gagne, CEO of Design Gagne Studios." Jason gave the biggest smile he could without showing teeth.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

"I hear you want to be on my Graphic design team here. I've looked at your past education and I have to say, I'm impressed. You came out top of your class in three different areas in the 'Fine Arts' department in High School and have history in marketing. You have a Masters in Advanced Design and Business, which made me laugh really, only because business and art don't mix when it comes to the job you're asking for, but the added support in the field of advertisement is defiantly a plus. You have a clean record; never got into any deputes or trouble with the law. You even have a recommendation from Varche Corporation simply because the CEO there thought you were a good man, a diligent worker, and extremely skilled at what you do. Now, all this information is all fine a good, but I want to know more about you as a person, a human being with emotions and desires. I want to know if you're a cookie-cut-out or someone worth while. Enlighten me, Jason. Tell me about who you really are."

Now this... Jason wasn't expecting this and he hoped the shock wasn't too clear on his face. The large Canadian cleared his throat and tried to look Gagne in the eyes, but that proved very difficult. "Well, I..." Jason wanted to just spit out most of the basic things which he thought limited the useless garble which no one really wanted to hear, but something inside him just screamed for depth. It sure seemed like that was what Gagne wanted, right? Jason took in a deep breath. "I've never really been sure of what I wanted. Ever since I was little, it was all just too confusing and by the time I was in High School I just spat out the babble that everyone wanted to hear and did what they wanted me to do; what society at the time expected of me. I never thought about what I wanted and just wanted to please others because I didn't want the people around me to go away or stop having hope in my success. Sure, I took a few liberties on the side, like those fine art classes, which I loved, but my life and need to be accepted drove me down the other path in that fork in the road. I was hired by Varche and moved up in their ranks because I always drove myself to do my best, but, honestly, I was miserable. The people I worked with were, in latent terms, zombies, and the customers were annoying and lied through their teeth like what they said was so offhand and slick.

Then I got laid off. People expressed how sorry they were for me and that they'd hope I'd be okay, but, I already was okay. I was better than ever. I was finally free of that grey, backwash hell that they called an office. It was then I decided that I would do something I loved. Something that wasn't a chore and would make waking up on Monday just as wonderful as waking up on Friday, or even Saturday. I love music and art and just expression in general. I need a job where all this can be in one world at once and I can be happy for once in my life. I think that this place is the answer. My salvation and deliverance from melancholy." Jason finished his speech and inwardly groaned. It all sounded so cheesy to him. Of course, he'd always been his biggest critic, but this time it seemed so much worse than his usually stringy, pulled together garbage.

Jason's mounting shock only grew, though, when Gagne threw out a beaming, ear-to-ear grin and reached a hand over the table. Jason took it, rather confused, the smile not mirrored until he heard the next words that came from the other's mouth. "Welcome to Design Gagne Studio. You start next Monday."

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_AN~ Hello all! I just wanted to butt in because someone asked me what time period this was taking place in. This is modern day. Why? I have no clue. _


	4. Chapter 4: Screw You Over

_AN~ WELCOME RANDOM UPDATE! XD yeah, I have no schedule. I PLAY BY MY OWN RULES! Still, though, I shouldn't have waited this long to update and I am mentally drubbing myself for it. Anyway, I hope you show this chapter some love, and if you hate it like I do, join the 'Party of Antagonism towards SrMichaelbucket's Fics.' I'm chairman. _

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Fred walked inside, closing the door to maybe stave off the chill from outside, but the cold still crept in. While entering his apartment, the man kicked aside a letter which had been shoved in through the mail slot. He took one look at the paper and mumbled many venomous words towards it before taking it and tossing it in the trash. With a deep intake of breath, he let it sink in; everything. The smell of his apartment was usually of cigarettes and that hadn't changed. His couches were old and worn, but not too bad. Honestly, they were more comfortable than his bed which is why he found himself camped out in the living room most nights. He had no television, just a bare rug and a coffee table. There were some papers strewn over the wooden surface along with two mugs of old coffee from days past which he never thought he'd ever get around to putting in the sink. His kitchen was messy and somewhat generic. The shelves were made of a light wood that didn't match the rest of the apartment at all. The floor was old white tile, since stained with many different substances. Fred ignored it all and took take making his way to the bedroom.

The walls were dark and floors made of grimy, moldy carpets. The bed was a mess simply because he never had time in the morning to make it whenever he did sleep there. He had no dresser, nor table. All he had was a closet with some shirts and pairs of jeans, albeit a few. Fred walked to his closet and searched through his limited wardrobe. There was a black t-shirt, a white one, three pairs of blue jeans, two boiler suits, two old sweaters he'd gotten from various thrift stores, and a jacket. Fred grabbed the black shirt and a loose pair of jeans, changing into them then walking back into the living room.

When he sat down on the couch, his body instinctively relaxed to a considerable degree, knowing well that he was planning on passing out there soon. For the time being, or until his mind finally went blank, he just sat there, staring at the far wall as though it were something of interest, something unusual that he found abnormal. Any expression that indicated so was false, because they were brought forth through his wandering thoughts which bounced from here to there. His rent was due tomorrow, and that concerned him most. When his landlord found that Fred couldn't pay for his home, he'd be kicked out on the spot. Not only was the land lord a very bitter woman, but Fred's rent was also a week late. Her level of generosity was dwindling. Perhaps he could leave and avoid a venomous conversation with the current bane of his existence. He didn't own all that much. It wouldn't take long to pack whatever he had.

Then again, it was a cold night and had winter had yet to reach it's peak. A freezing onslaught of biting hell would await him. If he chose to hit the streets, he'd be cast out into these conditions for months and then what? He'd have to endure the rain, the hail, the conditions even worse than what he lived in now. He'd have to risk muggings, starvation, arrests, pure poverty. Fred considered the possibility of finding someone to stay with, but that was ruled out just as soon as the thought came to mind. He had neither family nor friends. Fred got up and shook his head. Even if he chose to stay the night, morning would come and he'd be removed from the property to face the world anyway. Why bother with a shouting match which the land lord was going to start with him?

Fred walked into the bedroom and grabbed the back-pack he kept under his bed. Within moments he had his clothes tucked into it, bunched and in a sloppy ball, but packed. The only other things he could take were a picture of some girl he'd met in high school and some food from his fridge.

* * *

As soon as he entered the house, Jason lunged for his phone, which he'd accidentally left on his nightstand due to his scatter-brain, and dialed Ryan's number. Waiting for the brunet to answer agony but when he finally did, he was only able to get half a word out before the larger Canadian's excitement got the best of him. "I got the job!" he burst. Ryan was quiet for but a moment, obviously trying to figure things out. When he did, his voice came off as happy as the man could make it sound over the phone.

"That's awesome! I didn't think you'd get hired right off though. Were you the only applicant?"

"No. There were six others. I guess he really liked what I had to say."

"The collage education helps."

"Yeah, but most of my majors were in the field of business." Jason walked to his couch and sat down, pulling Crystal into his lap. The tabby curled up, digging her claws into her owner's leg lightly for a few minutes. Jason didn't notice it or rather didn't care, as he was accustomed to it after so many years. Most of his attention was pulled into the phone conversation, which was cut short when Angel called for Ryan's attention, to which it was halfheartedly given. They said their good-byes and Jason was curled up in bed before the clock even reached seven. He still had a hangover from the night before.

Regardless of it all, though, the large Canadian found it impossible to rest while his mind buzzed with a potent mixture of emotions. On the side, he was happy. Genuinely so. He felt ecstatic about landing the job and being able to support himself for once in years. Then, there was the majority of Jason's emotion, which was all devoted to his still fresh grief at the loss of his mother. How she would have loved to be there for him and be just as joyful as he was. Jason could have finally started doing things for her, and repaying her for all her years of support in his own manor of small things.

His word came crashing back, again, and his now employment was forgotten. He couldn't sleep with it. Jason stood and up put his shoes back on along with a leather jacket. Perhaps he'd find some ease in a little alone time through the snow-blanket night. He opened and door and was bombarded by a wall of storming winds, carrying with them millions of snowflakes to sting his eyes. They were like small bullets, but it was the norm this time of year.

Stepping out into the open word rushed him with an all knew manor of sights and smells. Somewhere not far off, some crazy bastards were having a bonfire. The wind carried the smells of smoke through the streets, leaving an awful taste in his mouth, and that wouldn't be the only thing the wind carried if they kept at their insanity. He wouldn't be surprised if he came back to a torched house or two. Jason simply shook his head and turned tail towards the smell, leaving it behind as he found anything more compelling than a bunch of drunk teens. After a few steps, new smells from main-street reached his nostrils and some of them seemed relatively pleasant. There were the alluring gusts of scents from the pizzeria every time the door swung open, there were the sweet inviting aromas of syrup and warm batter from the waffle house down the road, and even a little tickle of perfume from the occasional passer-by.

The sights were little above average. Cars passed by in droves between some intervals of silence, splashing light upon the glittery snow which grazed the sidewalk, and the horrid, putrid slush which had been done over many times by nearly every car to pass on the road. The shops were lit up, only having the hour be eight p.m., but dimly so in the night-hours. Some apartments cast a few shafts through curtains or plain windows, but most were dark from early sleepers and vacant rooms. The main hub of the town, really, was a supermarket, still filled with patrons who took clear advantage of its twenty-four hour function. A little town, this was, and it made everything better. The city would wreak and the full-fledged open areas of countryside just seemed to vast and open. Jason liked having a little enclosure and more neighbors, to be honest. He didn't think he could stand isolation, nor could he confinement. A place exactly in the middle, like his home in the high-end district, suited just fine.

After at least half a mile of wondering up and down streets between districts and intersections, he soon found himself trudging along through the slums. They weren't in poverty, but defiantly run-down living compared to the rest of the town. Apartment buildings were mashed together with little ally-ways just barely dividing the lots apart. There was a motel across the street from the complex labeled 'Grove', which promised little difference from the street or the ally. Jason had actually stayed there once, a little while before his mother realized what kind of life he was living, and he rented a room off of scrounged money found anywhere like sidewalks and gutters. They didn't even have heating and he found himself curled up with all his clothes, including his shoes, under a thin-blanket that would do a golden retriever little good. Really, the slums weren't that bad. Most of the buildings were up-kept by small neighborhood functions at the local church that made sure everyone had standard living and everything they needed to get by with what little money they had on their own. Most of the people were kind-hearted and simply put into a pinch by the modern world. It wasn't getting any easier for them, or anyone for that matter. Times were falling pretty hard.

Something caught Jason's eye; or, someone, rather. The blond tilted his head, frowning dolefully as he approached. "I guess life couldn't wait a week, huh?"

Fred looked up, sighed with a shake of his head, and spoke with a voice so full of a mixture between malice and suffering. "Yeah, it'll screw you over like that."


End file.
